THE FRONT DOOR opened. Walter looked up from the coffee machine. “Gus, what are you doing in that suit?”
Gus walked toward his desk. “Have a meeting in Key West.”
“Oh, that’s right,” said Walter. “Internal Affairs. The pot business.”
Gus looked surprised. “It’s a confidential proceeding.”
“They’re going to suspend you.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“The coffee shop.”
Gus grabbed some papers from his in-basket and headed out the door.
“Maybe you can say you have glaucoma.”
“Later, Walter.”
A STARK, WINDOWLESS room in Key West. An uncomfortable metal chair under a bright fluorescent light. Gus was in it.
There was a desk in front of him and two men in dark suits and thin black ties. The one sitting behind the desk was known as R.J. The one leaning against the side of the desk with a leg hitched over the corner was J.R.
“Serpico,” said R.J. “Why are you sweating?”
“It’s hot in here.”
R.J. turned to J.R. “I’m not hot. Are you hot?”
“I’m not hot.”
“This is ridiculous,” said Gus. “The pot was part of an official presentation. The department does it all the time.”
“Don’t worry about the pot,” said R.J.
“But I heard you were going to suspend me.”
“You
“You’ve been snooping around?” said R.J. “Interfering with an internal investigation?”
“That’s a serious crime,” said J.R.
“No,” said Gus. “I mean my partner mentioned it in passing—”
“Turning on your partner?” said R.J.
“Breaking the Blue Wall of Silence?” said J.R. “There’s a name for cops like you.”
“It’s not a nice name,” said R.J.
Gus looked confused. “So you aren’t going to suspend me?”
“We already did,” said R.J.
“But we suspended the suspension,” said J.R.
“I don’t understand,” said Gus. “Then why am I here?”
J.R. handed a sheet of paper to R.J., who held it up in front of Gus. “Is this your dick?”
“Where’d you get that?” said Gus.
“A guy was passing them out with restaurant flyers on the corner of Southard,” said J.R.
“I’m not believing this,” said Gus.
“He hasn’t answered the question,” said R.J.
“Why won’t you answer the question?” said J.R.
“Look,” said Gus. “There’s a very simple explanation….”
R.J. produced a coffee mug from Las Vegas. “Is this yours?”
“What?”
“Don’t try to deny it,” said J.R. “We found it in your desk.”
“The bathing suits disappear,” said R.J. “The lab boys tested it numerous times under a variety of conditions.”
“Inappropriate material in a government office,” said J.R. “That’s a serious offense.”
“But I was going to take it home,” said Gus.
“We get the picture.”
“No, you don’t,” said Gus. “I didn’t even want it. That was a gift.”
“Who from?”
“My partner.”
“Oh, still trying to give up your partner?” said J.R.
R.J. held up the Xerox again. “Is this your dick?”
Gus wiped sweat off his forehead. “I can explain that piece of paper.”
“By all means.”
“It’s not what you think,” said Gus. “I wasn’t involved.”
“But this
Gus nodded.
“And you weren’t involved?” said J.R.
“Yes, no, I mean it was done without my knowledge.”
“Someone drew on your dick without your knowledge?”
“No, I agreed to the drawing part.”
“That’s all the questions we have for now,” said R.J.
“Wait, I have to explain.”
“You have a funny way of explaining,” said J.R.
“The more you do it…” said R.J.
“…The worse it gets,” said J.R.
ANOTHER OFFICE IN Key West. This one had windows and diplomas. The marriage counselor flipped through the pages of a handwritten journal.
From time to time, his eyes bugged. He solemnly closed the book and looked up at Serge. “I want to thank you for allowing me to read this. It shows a commitment to making your marriage work.
“Why not?” Serge said in resignation. “I’m worn out.”
Serge and Molly were sitting as far apart on the couch as possible. Molly was all scrunched into herself at one end, trying to occupy minimum space. Serge was at the other, lounging with legs spread, tapping a foot. The counselor sat across from them in a padded chair. He wore a toupee that was too black. He patted the cover of the journal. “I think you subconsciously wanted her to find this.”
“That wasn’t it,” said Serge. “I had to run out. Coleman ended up in the emergency room again after a bar bet trying to uncap a beer bottle with his eye socket.”
“Coleman!” blurted Molly, folding her arms tight and looking away.
“Who’s Coleman?” asked the counselor.
There was a quick knock at the door, then it opened. A man with an eye bandage stuck his head inside. “Are you going to be much longer?”
“What are you doing?” said Serge. “This is a private meeting.”
“Yeah, but I have to go see
“Excuse me, sir.” The counselor gave the man a stern look. “Do you mind?”
“Sorry.” He looked at the empty beer in his hand. “You have a place I can throw this?”
“There’s a wastebasket in the lobby.”
“Thanks.” The door closed.
The counselor looked at Serge. “Coleman?”
Serge shrugged. “What are you gonna do?”
The counselor opened a file in his lap. “Okay, who wants to start? Serge?”
Serge stared at his watch. “This wasn’t my idea.”
